Survivor's Heart
by Tragedy of Life
Summary: Rose, a rebel, is sentenced to a life of slavery by the state. In order to survive, she must serve and rely on the one man she hated most: Cal Hockley. He is everything Rose despises: loyal to the oppressive government and blinded by greed. Can she find any happiness with such a man? Or will he cause her further agony in a way no one could have possibly foreseen? Grey!Cal CalRose
1. Chapter 1

There was no light. That was the first thing Rose Dewitt-Bukater noticed when she opened her eyes. The floor of the cell was cold and damp, and she hugged her knees to her chest; her eyes closing in pain. The side of her stomach ached and she wondered if a rib had been broken.

Her stomach twisted in knots, growling. Rose sighed, digging her teeth into her bottom lip to hold back the sobs that threatened to come out. Only silent tears were the clear sign of her distress.

How had Rose ended up here, caged up like a animal, condemned to darkness? If only she had shut up and remembered her damn place, Rose would not be here but somewhere far away like Santa Monica.

The waves crashed against the shore as she trotted her horse along, alone. A white flower was pinned to her wild, curly hair and she placed a hand over eyes to shield it from the light. Up ahead was the figure of a man with simple suspenders and a white shirt. In his left hand was a artists pad; his hair, blonde, shined gold in the sunlight.

_" Rose! Come here so I can draw a picture of you !" He grinned. Rose smiled and dropped off her horse, pulling it behind her by the reins._

_" And where shall I sit?"_

_He pointed to a rock almost the size of the bolder._

_"It's right there and I want you to pose for me, alright?"_

_" Why not use a camera? " Rose asked," It would be much quicker."_

_Jack frowned._

_" That takes the creativity out of it, Rose; the art!"_

A loud bang interrupted her thoughts and she looked up. It was one of the prison guards, his baton on the ready attached to the belt around his waist.

" Get up quickly," he barked, " and don' leave me waitin."

She slowly rose up, clutching her stomach. Rose managed to stay upright, fighting the temptation to fall over.

" I think I broke a rib, Sir," she said, pleadingly. He didn't seem to care, though, and sneered in acknowledgement.

"Stop your yappin' and lets go missy!"

She followed him out of her cell and passed the others. Some looked solemn without any emotion on their face but it showed in the hollowness of their eyes. Others wailed, the newer ones who had not yet gotten used to this hell hole. Somewhere in the middle, in some kind of limbo Rose remained, neither resistant nor yet totally broken. That of course would not last long in itself for she was getting weaker and weaker by the second.

When they stepped outside, she attempted to lean towards the door at the cold burst of wind in her face. Her guard,however, would not allow it.

" Girl, you better get on ova' there or else." He patted his baton and she swallowed,understanding full well what he meant. Satisfied, he gestured towards the tall, barbed wire gates of the prison, where she could hear the the clang of metal against rock and the loud, harsh voice of the foremen ordering them to hammer faster or so God help him. She walked ahead, trying to hurry so he would not make an example of her.

She seated herself next to an old woman on a wood block, mounds of rocks before her and a hammer laying next to it, with an evil glint in the sunlight. Sighing to herself, Rose picked it up, lifting it high above her head before bringing it crashing down onto the rocks below. No cracks had formed and Rose was forced to repeat the action over and over until finally the rock split in tow; her chest was heaving.

A nasty, rough cough shook her body, as she covered her mouth with the sleeve of her jacket, the salty taste of blood in her mouth. Her throat burned and her chest scratchy and congested.

The old woman next to her looked over, pausing in her work.

" You don't look too good, child. People like you don't last long in these parts."

Rose did not reply. Yet, inside she hated the old woman who was right. Only the strongest could hope to survive this hell or risk being killed off. Right now, Rose did not look to be strong at all but was in fact growing more fragile by the second.

Rose ignored her, smashing rocks with the hammer with diligence and sweat dripping down her brow, in contrast to the icy chill outside. Was this how life was meant to be after that fateful day on the Titanic?

She thought the suns and stars smiled upon her and Jack and that they would be able to overcome anything, no matter the difficulty. That her loneliness would ceaseand be replaced by her newfound love for Jack.

Lunchtime came with the sun's descent on the horizon. The meal wasn't much, though- consisting of only a thin watery potatoe soup without any silverware and crack running through the middle of the bowl. It was not the cleanest of things but it was better than nothing.

She drank it down- manners were a things of a past long gone and forgotten. Ruth would have been so repulsed by the way she so desperately consumed her food but times were hard for all Rose cared. Many stole food in order to survive at the price of someone else's life. Rose refused to be any such victim.

It was in this moment that she returned to her dreams, her only place of peace; of freedom.

_Rose sat on the rock, dressed in a white shirt and brown riding pants. She leaned on her side, smiling at quickly began sketching out her form, and Rose breathed in the fresh salty sea air; trying to keep her still composure._

_He had done the same for her on the Titanic, except no clothes covered her frame and above her breasts rested the Heart of the Ocean. At the thought, a burning sensation filled her and it was as if the Heart of the Ocean, at the mere mention of its name, was inflamed and ready to take its revenge for Rose's bold show of distaste not for just the jewel but the owner itself._

Rose shook her head, shivering from the cold. She would not speak that name, never again. The memory of him would never be forgotten, but its vividness would most certainly be lessened to a point where nothing but numbness filled her at his actions.

A loud commotion was heard near the front of the camp with the shrieking wail of a woman. Rose was pulled out her thoughts and looked up, craning her neck to see over the other prisoners who had stood up.

" Oh God, nooo please that's my boy," sobbed a woman, her dress covered in more patches than cloth. She was following two guards who were pulling a young, thin man by his arms.

" Continue your work, or you will end up like your wretched son!" barked an officer.

The woman carried on, reaching out for her son.

" Peter! Oh Peter, I'm sorry! Peter please-"

Her son did not reply. His pale face was impassive as he said calmly, " Mother, go back to work. I shall see you in the morning."

His mother cocked her head in confusion.

" How if they are taking you to the- the ex-"

Rose clambered to her feet, and wandered over to the woman, ignoring the aches in her body.

" Madame," she said, " I do believe your son is right. Isolating prisoners from others is a punishment common in many prisons around the world, " she said smoothly.

" Go with her Mother, " Peter insisted, firmly.

His mother opened her mouth but closed it at her sons withering glare.

She closed it in defeat, before saying one last thing.

" Promise you'll come back safe and sound, boy. You promise me," her voice quivered.

Peter nodded.

" I swear I'll come back just fine."

His mother reluctantly walked away, with Rose draping an arm around her shoulders in a show of comfort.

" Will my boy come back?"

Rose closed her eyes briefly, scrunching together in pain.

" Yes he will, Madame. Peter is a strong young man and for that reason I am absolutely certain your son will come back and you two can be together again."

The woman smiled, assured of Peter's safety.

Rose wanted to grin; to believe these things she said, but a heavy cloak of darkness fell upon her - suffocating and oppressive - and further exaberated by an emotion she had not been too fond of as of late:

Guilt.

The night came without her boys return. The woman began to fret, disturbing the other women to the point where Rose was forced to shut the woman up herself.

She walked over to the bottom bunk bed, guided by the silvery moonlight shooting through the window and hissed, " You are driving everyone insane here. What have you to complain of? Many people here have lost their loved ones. Should your grief be any worse than theirs?"

The woman hid her face beneath her cover with shame.

" I am sorry. You did say my boy would come back. He promised that he would return, and never has he lied. Never once in his life except when he was very ill…"

She shook her head in disbelief, looking up at Rose.

" Peter always had a bad habit of hiding things from me. He feels that to tell me his problems is burdening me with them. I am his mother, though, and it is my job to make sure no harm comes to him. Yet, I couldn't do that because his pride got in the way to the point where it almost killed him."

Rose nodded slowly.

" Rest," she soothed. "Um…I am sorry but I never did ask for your name. How rude of me!"

"Isabella," the woman replied." My name is Isabella."

Rose nodded. Isabella. A common but elegant name.

"Rest Isabella. You'll wake up in the morning and see this is nothing to fret over you'll see."

Convinced, she turned away from Rose and tried to get some sleep. Rose returned to the bunk across the small, room and climbed on top, careful to do so quickly before one of the steps gave in. A tear slowly fell down her cheek and she wiped it away angrily, the sadness heavy upon her heart.

Peter who was singled out would die. And no sweet words from Rose could ever ever heal those bleeding wounds in Isabella's heart.


	2. Chapter 2

The morning came too fast. It seemed as if Rose had slept for less than a hour when she heard the foreman barge in and hit a spoon against the bottom of a pot, making quite a racket.

"Wake up, Ladies! Wake up!"

Groaning and muttering under her breath, Rose got up along with the other women and quickly put on the standard footwear: sandals. Luckily for her, Rose was one of the lucky few who had warm woolen socks. Many women were forced to bare the cold without any protection, sometimes barefoot.

As they walked outside, they saw the men pushing wheelbarrows of rocks and pouring them in a giant pile in the middle of the camp. The sky was gray, the threat of rainfall very real and worrisome for the young woman. She was already ill- it would not do to get sick with pneumonia while she was at it.

There was no sign of Peter and Isabella looked among the faces of the male prisoners, trying to find her son.

"Isabella, you should begin working," Rose said, as she saw the foreman frown at Isabella's idleness.

"Shouldn't he be back by now?"

"Isabella, if you don't work, who knows what the foreman will do to you," Rose warned.

Reluctantly, the woman walked off to the front of the camp and began to crush rocks along with everyone else. Her mind at ease, Rose sat in the same spot as yesterday- next to the old woman and tried to think about Jack or anyone else besides Peter.

She hoped he was okay, but something told her that all would not be well. Ten others had been killed; whether in torture sessions or for all the prisoners to see. How would Peter be any different?

Rose lost herself in her work, the throbbing muscles of her arm and back gave her a small relief from the guilt and dread haunting her mind. All for a boy she knew very little about.

_He's still human, whether you knew him well or not. And no one deserves this suffering. No one._

Well, that wasn't _entirely_ true. She could think of one man who could use the harsh discipline of the camp. Maybe he would have thought twice before putting his hands on anyone.

_No,__Rose, not that man. Forget about him. What's done is done. You won't ever have to see him again._

Rose prayed her thoughts were true. She had nothing to defend herself from her old fiance's wrath- not her beloved Jack nor even her own strength which deteriorated along with her health.

It was at this moment a shrill blow of a whistle filled the camp. Immediately, people stopped what they had been doing. Something very grave was going to happen. The foreman never blew the whistle before sunset. Ever. Unless there was going to be a-

"Execution," a man said, "There's going to be an execution."

Rose shivered. She wondered how they'd kill him. Hanging? She had seen a woman hanged, a prominent leader of a rebel group, until her face turned blue and her eyes bulged out of her head. The sight had made her unwell; she refused to eat for the rest of that day.

This execution, she prayed, would be quick. Maybe it would be less gruesome. Perhaps she could shield her eyes from the sight of Peter's body.

Isabella was distraught, running towards Rose with her eyes wide in fear.

"You...you don't think it's Peter?"

Rose wanted to ignore her. Run away. Cruel as it was, it still could not compare to the present lie that she spewed so easily from her lips.

"I don't know," Rose lied, her voice monotonous.

That was all she could bare to say without losing her composure. They were all told to march to the west of the camp, where the mass grave of deceased prisoners lied. Rose did not dare look at Isabella. She hoped the woman would refrain from speaking to her. Rose had no more comforting lies to tell her. She already felt so horrible about getting the woman's hopes up.

"The punishment issued to prisoners depends on the severity of the crime, right?"

Rose did not answer, stopping behind the other prisoners. They were ordered to move further down, to form a sort of semicircle. No prisoner, man, woman, or child would be spared the gore of today. All were to witness it or risk a vicious beating by the guards.

"Rose," pleaded Isabella.

"What did your son do?"

Isabella sighed.

"He got involved with the wrong crowd. He was the leader of a gang that...did some damage to government buildings. He was imprisoned but refused to plead guilty to the crime and for his defiance he was thrown in here. I was thrown in here along with him for association - which is inevitable if you're his mother."

A tear ran down her cheek.

"Even here, he always gives the guards a hard time...Does he have any chance of escaping the gallows?"

Rose averted her eyes, her silence a clear answer. Isabella mouth was agape, as slowly she came to a horrid realization.

"You knew? Both you and my boy knew what would happen to him?"

Rose had no time to respond because three guards came out, carrying upright rifles. In front, near the gates, two dragged out a man, soiled and bloodied; his wrists and ankles bound in chains. The mop of blond hair on his scalp made it clear as to who the victim was.

Isabella looked on, her face frozen in shock.

"No, no no!" She rushed forward, pushing a man.

"Isabella!" Rose cried out, "Don't!"

It was too late. Before she could even make it a foot beyond the circle, a guard keeping the prisoners in order smashed his baton into the side of her head. Isabella fell onto the dirt, clutching her head in pain. Rose tried going to her, but thought better of it. The punishment she would receive if she tried to help would be more severe due to the fact that the crime she committed was a far more grievous act than mere association.

Like a coward, she stood back and watched as the guard pulled Isabella to her feet.

"Now you can watch as your son dies!" he growled.

Her son stood now, his back straight and head up high. He was resigned to his fate and would not plead for mercy.

"Ready your weapons," cried out one of the three men, clearly the leader of the squadron. Their fingers were on the trigger, their other hands wrapped around the barrel of the gun.

"Aim!"

All three stooped down on one knee, aiming the barrels of their rifles at Peter. Rose could feel her heart beating wildly in her chest as the tension built; her eyes moving from Peter's resolved stance to Isabella's frantic movements as she tried to get to her son.

"STOP! Please spare my son! PLEASE!" shrieked Isabella struggling against the guard, but he kept a vice grip around her arm. She elbowed him in the face, blood leaking out his nose. It took only a second for him to grab hold of her arms and twist them behind her back, effectively immobilizing her.

"Fire!"

There was a sound, like a firecracker popping except much louder. Three bullets met their intended target, hitting the boy in his chest and abdomen. He fell forward onto his knees, blood from his wounds staining the front of his uniform. His blond head lifted and his eyes met his mother's for one last time before life left him and he fell onto his front; blood tinting the already black dirt.

The moment that the shots fired, Rose had lowered her head as memories of a time not so long ago filled her mind; a sinking ship, a bittersweet reunion, gunshots going off as bullets nearly missed her, and her hand securely in Jack's. A bloodcurdling scream filled the camp, bringing Rose out of her trance. But she didn't look up. She refused to, knowing she wouldn't be able to look anywhere but at Isabella or the corpse of her son. She could do nothing now but hope she was not next and that somehow she would survive.

_A/N: Shout out to my beta LunarEclispe360! She has been really great and added more emotion to the execution scene and has been patient with my appalling grammar skills. What do you guys think will happen to Rose? How does Cal play into all of this? Any reader suggestions let me know! Thanks to everyone who reviewed my story and continues to do so! :D I will try to update at least once a week._


	3. Chapter 3

Rose found life dull, if not dreary after Peter's execution. Everyone went back to work, whispering among themselves about the tragedy of it all. Eventually, it got tiring. People were not necessarily cruel; they had given up all hope of escaping the prison and accepted that death was a common occurrence whether due to executions, starvation, or illness. Peter was just one more boy killed.

It hurt to think such thoughts, but it was true. Rose knew it, the whole camp did. But Isabella be damned if she ever came to that conclusion. He was just some boy to her that was her baby, her son taken from her just like that.

She became a silent ghost, speechless and soundless as she went about the camp, working but at a slow pace. The guards were not to impressed with her performance and beat her. Rose would see her limp back to her bed, a lifeless look in her eyes. Peter had token his mother with him in death; all that remained was the shell of his mother. She refused to bathe or eat. Or maybe there was no energy left in her.

Life in the camp had been harsh on her, the wind and sun had etched lines into her face making her look older than her 40 years. Her hands had never been manicured or particularly soft, but never had they been so thick with calluses.

She laid on her bed, looking up at the top bunk bed. Waiting. Waiting for her death.

"Isabella?" Rose asked, cautiously. She was afraid to speak to Isabella to look her in the eye after all the falsehoods she had told her. Isabella just looked up, the only sign that she was alive her slow blinking. Her hands were folder together, on top of her chest.

"I'm sorry," Rose said, not knowing what else to do.

Isabella let out a weary sigh.

"All I wish for," she quivered, "is death. A quick,painless death. Too long I have toiled everyday, rain, snow, or sleet. Too long I allowed myself to live in filth and to be abused and neglected.

"I mourned my son. He was the only family I had left. The war

It was said so certainly as ifto commit

Too long have I toiled...

To die with anger in my heart is a sin.

"Sick," a guard to the left of her said, near another prisoner crushing rocks. "Your bloody sick with consumption," he frowned in distaste.

It took all of Rose's will not to plea for her life.

"Come with me," he barked.

Rose stayed put, unable to move. How could she have been so foolish? She should've wore a bandana or something over her mouth, but not only would it look suspicious; she would have to smell the wet stench of blood.

"NOW."

Rose stood, ignoring the curious stares of the other prisoners. She followed the guard to the infirmary, every step heavier to the next. She was going to die"

"As a slave" Rose finished. She withered under the Doctors glare.

"Didn't I say not to speak?"

"Sorry."

The Doctor groaned. "Twice. Just wait for a minute."

He walked to the front of the infirmary where two white cabinets were located. He opened it and pulled out a blue surgical mask. He walked back over and handed it to her.

"Since you insist on talking, please put this on."

Nodding, she placed the band behind her head, pulling the mask over her mouth and nose.

"As I was saying, a second option is we sell you or woman- would want to take on the responsibility of making sure you get the help you need. It's mandatory under law that they do so, a least in some parts or risk a hefty fine for putting the public at risk."

No one is going to buy me. And surely I do not want to be sold like some commodity!

Yet, it was either that or death.

"But why wasn't I sold in the first place?" she asked. Why put her through the pain and suffering?

"Traitors," he stated as a matter-of-factly, "are sent here for two reasons. To be either executed or retrained to the point where they may return to the larger society- usually as slaves but there have been exceptions. It depends on the severity of your crime."

"How grievous was your crime?" asked the Doctor curiously.

_It was so sweltering hot outside, when she was seized and dragged out of the simple shack she and Jack had once shared. Her dress clung to her skin, damp with sweat._

_"Unhand me this instant!" she screeched._

_The guard looked surprised. She did not at all sound like the filth living in the slums, but one of the pompous sons of bitches from the higher classes. What in the world then was she doing here?_

_She was flaying about, elbowing him in his stomach when he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her._

_"Miss! If you don't stop fighting back, you'll get a longer sentence for resisting arrest. Try me and see what happens."_

_She stopped, glaring at him with utter hate._

_"For what crime am I being arrested?"_

_"You are hereby under arrest for inflammatory speech against the government of the United States and harboring of the traitor Jack Dawson, who has also been charged with treason by means of anti-government posters distributed without approval of the government and inciting violence."_

"They arrested me for hiding another traitor and calling for an united front against the government."

The guard looked away pondering this.

"I was expecting far worse. Such as killing of an official, burning or blowing up government buildings. You have folks here who have killed even preachers and other religious folk in support of the government," he said in disgust," I'd say your crime is less serious. Still pretty bad, but it is something that will likely not call for a execution but a reeducation of sorts. There is no guarantee. I would have to take it up with my superiors."

She could not help the sigh of relief that escaped her lips. It was quickly followed by guilt. What would Jack say?

He would think you're a coward. A sellout.

Oh, yes he would but Rose wanted to live. She was not yet ready to die.

"For now you will just have to stay here," the Doctor said," But not forever. Which is why I hope Mr. Johnson, you bring her case to the attention of the top officials here as soon as possible. Perhaps she can make an appeal."

Mr. Johnson nodded.

"I will do my best sir."

He then looked at Rose.

"Are you sure about this? Some Masters are not at all kind."

What if whatever owner she had was worse? Beating and starving her? What if they disposed of her and she died anyway? All these what-ifs frightened her, the doubts growing more and more in here mind.

No. You'll definitely die here either way. All you can do is take a leap of faith and hope whoever buys you- if anyone buys you- is merciful, if not kind. That's a gamble you must make.

Rose took a deep breath.

"That is a risk I am willing to take," she said calmly.

She waited there for two days, unable to stay calm. The doctor could only hold here in the infirmary for three days before he had to let her go and face whatever the hell they threw at her.

Her day consisted of sleep and shoving a nasty black liquid down her throat. It was bitter and scorching on her tongue. The doctor claimed it would make her better but it made her drowsy and very nauseous. She had thrown up the vile substance a few times to the doctors disgust.

It was finally the third day when she heard from . He walked in the infirmary followed by 3 men flanking an older man with a file in hand. He had more badges on his uniform in comparison to the other 3 men, meaning he was of higher rank and probably the warden.

"This is prisoner 225?" he asked, looking at her papers.

Rose could not help but grimace.

"Yes this is she." Prisoners were called by number, not name. Another reminder of her lowly status.

She struggled to sit up, her body aching and shuddering in cold though it was very warm in the infirmary.

The warden nodded towards her surgical mask.

"Consumption," he stated simply, "And you did not think to notify us?"

Rose had to stop herself from snorting.

"I do not want to die Warden." She could not forfeit her life. Not now. There was still hope, a chance everything would get better. It had to get better or she would die, she could feel it.

"Smart. We of course cannot let you stay here as a risk to others and my men themselves reviewed your case and it seems as though there may be hope for you would have to be willing to undergo a rehabilitation of sorts or face execution like everyone else. We give second chances only to defectors that have clearly denounced their erroneous beliefs and are willing to obey the law, whatever it may be.

" Can you denounce those beliefs?"

Rose fell silent. Could she really turn her back on the movement for change? For equality and freedom from the oppression of the state and all its lies and brutality toward citizens?

Finally she answered, "I cannot."

She held her head high feigning confidence when she struggled to keep herself from trembling. But she could not forsake the revolution so easily- Jack would not have wanted that. Neither did she.

"Then you will have to be reeducated," was the wardens sinister reply.

Reeducation? She heard of it in whispers; it was a almost taboo subject and was not considered appropriate to speak of in front of children. Rose knew the definition: to teach someone again but was not sure about what her education would consist of.

The warden started to live with his armed guard when Rose called out "Wait!"

The warden paused and turned his head back.

"You serve under a master for whatever amount of time. Sometimes it's 7 years or more , other times it is goal however is the same: to have you see your beliefs are erroneous and help you become a obedient and upstanding citizen of the country. Your master will be both your teacher and protector in a time when many would rather see you be killed than offer any chance of redemption. The quicker you learn, the quicker you regain your freedom. Unless your master fails in which one of you must die."

Rose mouth was agape. She wasn't sure if she could take this.

The warden shook his head in pity.

"You must decide now if this is why you want. Whatever path you choose, reeducation or execution there is no turning back."

Rose sat down on the cot and buried her face in her hands. Was life meant to be so wretched? if Jack could see her now...

He's dead. What could he do? Was her cold thought and she cringed at its bitter tone. But it was right all the same.

Picking up her head she said wearily, "I chose reeducation."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The rest of the day she crushed rocks, her mind far away. Would anyone buy her? She was sick and of no use. And truth be told Rose was a rebellious soul. The Titanic had proved that. She had broken every rule that her mother had taught her that everyone in Philadelphia Society had lived by.

She had gone from suicidal and spoiled rich girl to brazen hero of the movement with Jack at her side. And now back to square one; vulnerable and at the mercy of the powers that be.

Sometimes Rose wondered what her life would have been with meeting Jack? She felt agony at the possibility of having never met Jack. He had changed her life in so many ways. No longer did she watch from afar as the poor starved like she did in her old, privileged her life. She had a duty to all her fellow countrymen. Yet, there was bitterness too, deep within her heart.

Her youth...it had been wasted. She had lived in such destitution with Jack...while she smiled at him inside her mind screamed at the poor condition of their home, the meager meals(if they were lucky), the lack of stability.

_It was tenement house. She had heard of them but never went in the rings of the inner city. Ruth had made it clear she had no business there and her loving fiance, ex fiance to be exact, would had never allowed it. He never permitted her to do anything but be a docile wife._

_Well she had showed him._

_Their home was not humble. Jack had pulled her in. It was dark and smelled of old,musty clothes. The floors were old and rotten in some parts from water damage and there was only a small window letting in light near a round table with 2 chairs._

_The first thing she noticed was there was no mattress. No blankets, nothing to sleep comfortably on. Nor was their a stove._

_She looked at Jack confused._

_"They don't have stoves?" she asked._

_Jack shook his head, amused._

_"No. We share one downstairs.A bathroom too."_

_Rose didn't know what to say or do...So far the place seemed very,very bad. How could she allow herself to live in such a filft-_

_She grinned instead._

_"That doesn't sound too bad.'_

_He squinted his eyes at his eyes at her unconvinced._

_"Sure it doesn't" he said skeptically. When she did not relent, Jack sighed in frustration._

_"Look you don't have to go and lie to me. I know we live in a dump. But it'll have to 's just temporary. I promise."_

_It was the first of many lies he would tell her._

The sun was setting. This was her last day crushing rocks. Possibly the last day she was slept, her back turned to the bed Isabella had once slept. It was too painful to look at. How many times would Rose have to watch people die as she stood by helplessly?

There was no fire in her. No strong will. It had been snuffed out and with it all her hopes for the future. Sometimes she wished she could there would be no more suffering no more guilt. She would join Jack wherever he may be, heaven or hell she did not care. Life was so unbearable without him. He had given his own life for the revolution while she cowardly agreed to a life of slavery to save her own hide.

That morning of her departure she did not say by to anyone. Part of the reason was she felt it was a taunt, a reminder to the prisoners that they would toil on to their last breath, with the ever looming threat of execution. Second reason was that she had little, if any friends here. Prisoners looked only after themselves. Why be friends with anyone if they would probably be hanged the day you woke up?

It was scary walking out beyond the gates, with armed guards escorting her and other prisoners chained together by the ankle along with their wrists. She tripped a few times, painfully spraining her ankle and had to hop guards would not let her stop; they threatened to take the butt of their rifles and smash it into the back of her skull. She knew what it felt like; when she came to her head was throbbing painfully for days and swelled terribly.

A mile or so away was a train station. The winds were loud and harsh, her face felt numb and her hand tingling red with the starting signs of frostbite. The trainstation was small and looked old with a wooden platform. A cattle train was on the tracks,a massive black thing that was taking them to a life of more labor and pain.

She boarded it, trying her best not to fall back on prisoners behind her or pull the chains to quickly forward and hurt someone behind her. It smelled of manure and piss. They would put them in a train for animals; they were considered animals.

"No one try to run away or you will be shot on the spot," one of the guards warned. Rse rolled her eyes. Where could they go without even a good set of boots or coat? They would die if not of a bullet but the cold and starvation.

The train rolled away. Fields of grass passed, with the occasional barn. They were in upstate New York. Where they were going next she had no idea. Someone said it would be a short ride. No one knew where exactly they were going.

She rested her had against the steel wall of the train and let herself drift off into sleep.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

It seemed that she had only slept for a few minutes when she heard a yell to get she rose to her feet, along with other prisoners and they marched out in a single file. The skies were gray with the sound of cars...people and walking. She could smell soft pretzels and looked to see they were obviously in a city but where? She could not see anything yet until they left the station.

They exited through the back, the train station quiet and isolated. She felt something wet and cold fall on her face. She looked up and saw white snow drift down, slowly blanketing her hair and body. It was hard not to shiver. SHe could feel the cold, even through her thick woolen socks.

They were out onto the sidewalk, horns of cars honking and peddlers selling whatever they could for a few more pennies in their pocket. It looked similar to New York,with the dark bleak tenement huses all the faces of young and old alike soiled with dirt and impassive as they sat in mere rags or begged for food, money..anything to survive.

They all started at her some with pity and others with clear disdain.

"Troublemaker," an old woman nearby, exiting a pawnshop muttered to her daughter with disdain shaking her head. The youner woman nodded in agreement.

You were fighting for ungrateful bit-

She ignored them. No one understood why she defied her state, her country. And they never would. It did not matter. All that matter was that she did not bow her head to would never bow her head to any nation, any man who treated people as mere pests to destroy rather than human beings. She had been with a man like that and her life was hell.

They were lead to a warehouse. A holding place for slaves; it was to cleanse them of any dirt on their bodies and make them more or less presentable.

It was humiliating to have to take off her clothes, even if in front of other women. Especially since she had lost so much weight.

One woman had remarked in amazement, "This girl is a walking stick!" Before pushing the girl into a wooden bath of water. It was a harsh, tough soap that burned. Rose suspected it was lye. The woman took large scratchy brushes and scrubbed her back arms, anywhere there was filfth. It was annoying- they were treating her like a child- but felt good. She felt too weak to move anything,making washing a hard thing to do and it had been forever since she last took a bath.

It made her situation slightly better. Just slightly.

They gave her some trousers that hanged from her body and was no doubt for a man.

"It's to hide your lack of weight," a woman said bluntly when she contorted her face in confusion. This was given along with old shirt ripped in some places. Knots in her hair were combed out, with Rose crying out nearly every second.

Finally, the women scanned her over, nodding in approval.

"Not the most gorgeous gal around but it'll have to do."

Rose snorted bitterly.

"Don't have to remind me" she muttered. She knew she looked far less radiant than a few years ago,when she was 17. Now she looked plain one would have recognized her. Not her mother,not...

Cal.

Oh God. To even think about him seeing her in this state made her want to hide away. It was irrational. It wasn't as if he would pop up in the auction. And if he did, who cared? There was nothing he could do to her anyway.

Reassured, she followed the other prisoners out onto the sidewalk and down a few blocks to the auction block. She could see the smoke coming from a factory somewhere. Where were they?

She asked a prisoner in front of her.

"Pennsylvania. Somewhere near Pittsburgh, I reckon with these factories ova' here."

Rose felt her heart race. She was home after all these years. She lived some distance away from Pittsburgh with her mother, but this was close enough. Never did she dream of returning here. Now she did, but not as a free woman. To think she thought herself a slave on the Titanic! The ship of dreams was nothing compared to the ordeal she would face today.

There was a high black stage where a man with a long beard and in a green suit stood. A crowd of people had formed already, many of them Rose recognized as part of the upper class. They looked on with barely concelaed disgust or leers at the other women- even men. Sick to her stomach, Rose wondered if maybe the camp was the better option. But it was too late. She had to face her destiny and pray that someone would take mercy on her wretched self.

Rose stood along side the other slaves. There were no longer in a chain gang but were still bond tightly by the wrist with guards not far from the auction block. The whole world it seemed had come to relish in her suffering.

"First man," cried out the trader, gesturing to a tall, musclar man with a blank stare on his face," on my right is Leroy Williamson. Very strong. Does what he is told. He can lift loads and has high level of stamina. He will never tire and will make an excellent slave. His reeducation will be swift; he obeys authority when one uses the right amount of force."

"2000," he cried," anyone for 2000?"

A woman raised up a gloved hand.

"2500, anyone for 2500?"

"3000?"

The price went higher and higher to 5500.

"5500 dollars, 5500 dollars? " No one except a young man kept their hand raised.

"Going once, going twice- sold to the man in the black tux!"

The man went up to claim his prize, smug and proud of his "achievement."

The muscalar man was released and the trader spoke carefully to him.

"You will do as he says without question or suffer even more cnsequences, do you understand boy?"

He nodded, his face unreadable.

"What?"

"Yes sir," the slave said through gritted teeth.

"Good."

He turned to his customer, who handed him some cash.

"I would like to see the file on my purchase. Can't have a sick slave now can I?"

The trader pretended to be hurt.

"Why Mister Johnson, I am a honest man just making a honest living. I don't sell sick slaves without telling the buyer. You can get sued that way."

He took out a file from his messenger bag and took out the paper for the slave. He ave it to the customer.

"His medical record is good. He has a healthy body, so do not worry about future illnesses with him."

Satisfied, the Mister Johnson asked, "May I take this?"

The trader nodded."I always make copies for my on records. Would you feel comfortable if one of my men were to escort you and your new slave home?"

He nodded.

"I am not sure if I can trust him not to run...or worse."

Rose didn't blame him. The man had bulging biceps, and large heavy hands that looked like it could rip his body into they left, with a guard following suit, Rose became more and more on edge.

Other slaves were sold, ready for a longer process of wondered what exactly it entailed. She read novels where they hypnotized people but doubted that they would hypnotize traitors into else went into it ad she was going to find out very soon just what that something was.

Rose was so lost in her thoughts that she did not here the trader bark for her to come over or see a man in the crowd passing buy, lost in his thoughts too.

She walked over, less people in the crowd, having taken the good slaves first. The last few slaves were usually the worst, ones that would be difficult to sell.

"This one is sick-"

As soon as he said those words, some of these men and women left, not wanting anything to do with her and her heart sank. Maybe execution would be her fate. There were a few people now and she closed her eyes, the voice of the trader fading away.

How had she ended up in such a mess? Was it God's way of teaching her some lesson, some truth she had missed? Or perhaps there was no God. Only one life on this earth, for better or worse. The place where she would live or die. What if she never met Jack? Never got on the Titanic? Where would she be now?

"Well-spoken woman, this Rose Dawson. But she will respond to anything you call her ," he said," She has a wild red mane of can endure long hours of work and would make a great companion."

She looked out to the crowd, as someone raised their hand, an old woman an others debating with their friends on whether she was worth spending money on. But her attention was no longer on them but someone else. He was tall man , wearing a long black overcoat and leather gloves to keep out the cold. Obviously, he was well to do and Rose remembered men like her father dressing in such a way.

At his side was another man with blond hair walking alongside him, who had stopped and looked at Rose with interest. He called to his friend who stopped and reluctantly turned back around. He looked irritated, his mouth quickly moving and his friend whispered in his ear, nodding towards her direction.

They were talking about her? His face was still turned but she could see the tanned skin and strong jaw and felt that he was oddly familiar. After listening to his friend, he muttered a few last words and finaly looked at the auction block.

Rose immediately looked down at her feet, not wanting to be seen refused to look up , curiosity got the best of her and she slowly lifted her wished she hadn't upon seeing his face. The tan skin, the dark her, and arched eyebrows- it was the devil himself.

Cal Hockley.

He seemed...calm. He just looked at her and then stepped closer, as if trying to to confirm that it was indeed Rose, his presumably dead fiance. Then he straightened his back, realizing it was indeed her and his jaw was clenched.

Just like his face was before he slapped her those years ago.

His friend was walking towards him and the two men chatted. Cal pointed at her,saying something that had his friend shaking his head in disapproval and then he turned back to face her, his fingers wrapped around his chin in thought. The calm before the storm.

Rose nervously bit her lip. What was he planning?Why didn't he just go away?!

"Five hundred dollars," called out the auctioneer, pulling her out of her thoughts.

A new, dark path was ahead of her.

**A/N: So what do you guys think of my Cal/ROse scene? It was very difficult keeping Cal in characterI hope i did a good job. Tell me what you think and i hope you enjoy future chapters!**


	4. Chapter 4

He was walking to the store; the wind so cold his face has lost all feeling in it. The buildings around him were drab if not deteriorated. Cal was here in the slums leaving his work at the factory. Accompanying him was a young man named Peter Johnson.

He was important to his business, he had taken over his father's railroad business, or would do so soon. Cal had heard his old man was dying. Hopefully soon so he could solidify his partnership with the boy and the terms of their agreement.

" You are walking rather slow Johnson, if I didn't know better I'd say you were an old woman."

Johnson frowned.

"Don't you have cigarettes to get Cal?" He retorted.

"It's Hockley to you, boy. We are not on a first name basis."

Johnson apologized but Cal wasn'tfooled. If he hadn't been so important to his business he would have hurt theboy for his disrespect.

They came upon a store with bars protecting its windows and a dirty green sign with the words 'stationary store' written across it. He entered. The store was musty and he could barely male out the shelves of glue, paper, andpens with the dim light.

Behind the counter was an old woman.

"What can I get you?" She inquired.

" A pack of cigarettes" Calling asked.

It was 75 cents - absolutely nothing to Cal.

Sliding it into his pocket he left the store and continued forward.

He wished his chauffeur could just pick both of them up but it was dangerous. He would have to meet it closer to the borders of the slum and transaction.

"We are getting close to the auction," Johnson noted.

Sure enough he saw a black stage and auctioneer shouting prices. He turned away.

"You seem to be rather fascinated by this, " Cal said.

Johnson snorted.

"Since when were you against slavery? "

"I never said I was. I find the auctions dull if anything. Now let's make haste-we are almost there."

Cal continued walking past the crowd but did not hear footsteps behind him. He turned around. The boy had stopped to look at the auction!

"Johnson!" Cal yelled.

"Cal come here! " Johnson called back excitedly refusing to move from his spot.

Cal stalked over to him ready to give him a piece of his mind when Peter beckoned him to look towards the stage.

" Why would I want to take a look at any of the criminals they have up there?" Cal demanded.

" But look at how red her hair is. Never saw hair like that in my life." Cal rolled his eyes.

"You can't be serious Johnson. Don't tell me you've taken a fancy to a woman probably from the slums. "

"She's too thin for me, " Johnson said, "but she's probably seen better days. Just take a look Hockley."

Cal sighed.

This man was something else.

"Since you so insist, I guess I willhumor you. This better be worth my time Johnson."

He looked up towards the auctionblock. On the stage was a woman; her head bowed. Strands of red curly hair fell from her ponytail onto her shoulders. She had only a thin gray blanket over her. She lifted her head up and looked out into the crowd; her eyes meeting his for the briefest of moments before quickly looking away.

Cal felt his heart freeze in his chest.

The red hair, the pale skin... he could have sworn her eyes were green like his ...his fiancée, Rose. No maybe he was going crazy. He hoped it wasn't her...Cal didn't know what he would do if he ever crossed paths with her. Still,Cal had to know if it was her. If Rose had really died or survived the Titanic. If only the damn woman would look up one more time so he could go home in peace.

As if hearing his thoughts she glanced at him their eyes meeting. Her eyes widen and her mouth agape as she took in his appearance. Cal walked up closer .. she looked just like Rose. She...she was Rose. Her eyes said it all fear so visible in them, her thin frameeven trembled and not just from thecold.

He stopped.

After all...these years...here she was staring right at him. Johnson had followed him. "Cal?" The dark haired man jaw was clenched and Johnson had a hunch that he knew this woman and there was some hostility towards her.

"I knew this woman," Cal began, " and she was once a part of Philadelphia Society. She was supposed to get married to someone but you knowwhat she does?"

Johnson shook his head.

"She runs off with some penniless artist. Had nothing to really offer her;no money, not even a job. She chose him. The lowly filth all because he gave her a good fuck no doubt."

He wanted to tear his eyes way from here. How he hated her then as he did now.

"For someone who wasn't directly affected by her infidelity you are quite angry." Jackson noted. "Shouldn't hold so much anger at anyone..it's not very Christian at all."

"And what should I do now?" Cal asked "Go up there and embrace her? She got herself into this mess. And I relish in her agony. I do."

Johnson sighed. "If you hate her so why not leave her to her fate? You do know if no one buys them they get executed? She doesn't look very healthy to begin with either. Leave her to die over something in the past something that didn't even concern you."

When Cal didn't answer Johnson said, "She was your fiancée wasn't she?"

When he didn't reply, Peter knew what the answer was. There was anger andmalice in Cal's eyes that made him doubt his story. But what made it clear to him was the pain, too. The sting of rejection Cal had conveyed but so masterfully hid.

"What will you do?"

"I should leave her to die," Cal said cold glaring at his former fiancée "but like you said it's not Christian of me to do such a thing. So I supposed I just have to buy her and give her some relief from it all.."

Yes he would. After he had broken her again and again, after Cal had made her endure every humiliation he could think of- then and only then would she have any relief.

Rose eyes gazed into his, pleading for him to leave her. Surely death would be better than him. And though he hated her and intended to spare her from death only so he could make her suffer he felt something tight in his chest.

It was the same feeling he had when he found out she slept with that boy..when she had told him she rather be Dawson's whore than his wife. It frightened him this ache in his chest how he felt like he couldn't breathe...

No. Cal would stamp it out suppress it even if it killed him. Rose had knownhe cared and only used that to wound him. Never again. He knew her game. She gave him no pity and neither would he her. Tears were falling down her cheeks. Cal only gave a mirthless smile.

He was going to buy her and save her from her impending death. However, Rose would not receive this mercy for free. There was a price one must pay for the good things in life whether fame, wealth, or freedom.

And she would pay it, even if killed her.

A/N: I hope Cal didn't seem ooc . If Rose seems pretty passive right now don't worry it'll change. I just though realistically her first reaction would be that of fear especially when Rose has no means of escape. Next chap Rose is bought by 't decided exactly What he will force her to do to get payback. PLEASE review and any requests?


End file.
